


Figments

by SoDoRoses (FairyChess)



Series: LAOFT Extras [81]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Past Character Death, sort of lucid dreaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 17:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21305657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyChess/pseuds/SoDoRoses
Summary: What’s the difference between a nightmare and a dream?Whether or not you want to wake up.(Sometimes you still can’t tell.)
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Original Character(s), Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & The Dragon Witch, Anxiety | Virgil/Creativity | Roman/Logic | Logan/Morality | Patton
Series: LAOFT Extras [81]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1365505
Comments: 59
Kudos: 514





	Figments

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by this comment on “Smitten” from notsotinyblob
> 
> "This is amazing and I just want you to know that I would kill for some sort of weird au of this au where Greta somehow got to meet virgil’s boyfriends I just want to see her reaction to them SO BADLY"
> 
> this is 100% NOT what you meant, i’m sure, and im so very very sorry
> 
> many thanks to my friend [@trivia-goddess](trivia-goddess.tumblr.com) for beta-reading this and joinging me in The Sads

“You know, it’s a really good thing Roman doesn’t look like me, or this would be very, _very_ weird,”

“Oh, would you shut up,” said Virgil, flicking Greta’s ear where she was laying on his stomach. She yelped, swatting at his hand.

“He does look like May,” she said, “Which is weird for me personally, but you never saw her when she was that age, so I suppose I can forgive you,”

“You’re a brat, you know that?”

“I suppose there’s no accounting for his taste-”

“You married _Tobias fucking Fischer,_ you have NO room to talk about anyone’s taste,”

“Okay fine, Roman’s excused,” said Greta, shrugging, “But Patton? Logan? I’m judging them,”

“You’re just jealous because you only got lucky enough to fall in love once, and I did three times,”

Greta made an offended noise.

“I most certainly am _not_ jealous,” she scoffed, “I’m stunned, maybe, baffled. I thought it was a pain to share a bed with _Toby_, I have no idea if they even make beds big enough for all four of you. How on earth do you sleep with three sets of feet in your sides?”

“What are you even- _parallel to each other_. Like _normal sentient beings_,” he said, snickering.

Greta chuckled, apparently finding whatever face he was making very amusing.

The clouds kept rolling by, lazy and slow, and Greta’s eyes followed them.

“I’m really not jealous, of course,” she said, a little softer. “They’re all so sweet. You’re _all_ sweet,”

Virgil tensed up, just a little.

“You know I’m joking, don’t you?” she said, totally unlike herself, and Virgil gritted his teeth against the twisting of his stomach.

“None of them could do better,” she continued, “Neither could you, for that matter, you- you’re all perfect for each other,”

“Yeah,” he croaked, “I knew you were kidding,”

She was quiet for a long time.

“You should see your face, when you look at them,” she said, “Totally smitten. It’s adorable,”

Virgil smiled, ignoring the way his hands were shaking.

Greta rolled, so her head was laying on its side on his ribs. She looked at him, smiling sadly.

“You do know you’re dreaming, don’t you _Bruderspinne_?”

Virgil felt a lump in his throat.

“Yeah,” he said, “Yes, Grettie, I know it’s a dream,”

She reached up and patted his side, and Virgil patted her on the head in kind.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

“Why are you apologizing?” said Virgil, smiling even though his eyes were burning, “It’s my dream,”

She shook her head, clearly choking up right along with him.

“I love you, idiot,” she sniffed, “I hate hurting you,”

“You could never hurt me,” lied Virgil, because it was a dream, and he could.

Greta clearly didn’t believe him, but she didn’t call him on it. She sniffled again, turning her head to wipe the corner of her eye on his shirt.

“I think you ought to wake up now,” she said.

“I don’t want to,” he said, sounding far smaller than he meant to.

“They’ll miss you,” she said, “You need a hug. A real one, not – not this,”

Virgil let out a long, shuddering breath.

“It’s alright,” she said, “It’s not like I’m going anywhere,”

Because she wasn’t really Greta. Just a recreation – a patchwork of memories and Virgil’s own wishes, saying what he wanted to hear.

“Right,” he said. His voice cracked, and she leaned over to grab at his wrist.

“It’ll be fine,” she whispered, “Just go home,”

She pinched him, and she was gone.

—

“So, Brother Spider. I hear you’re getting married?”

“It’s Virgil,”

Toby smiled.

“I don’t think that’s how it works. You never told me,”

Toby was sitting in a rocking chair, and Virgil cross-legged on the porch. The yard was overgrown, the grass tall and swaying. Toby was smoking that infernal pipe he always had, but there was no smell other than the wind and the pollen.

“I’m telling you now,” croaked Virgil.

“But I’m not me. Not really,”

“I _know,_” said Virgil. “Just- this is my dream. Why can’t I- why can’t I pretend?”

Toby shrugged.

“You know me,” he said, “Magic and myths, dreams and illusions. I don’t understand most any of that,”

“You’re married to a _witch, _Tobias,”

“And I understand her even less,” Toby laughed, “And you’re about to be married to one yourself. Good luck,”

Virgil cracked a watery smile.

“That Patton of yours though,” he continued, letting out a low whistle, “Got his work cut out for him. A witch and two Fair Folk? He’s a stronger man than me,”

“Bold of you to assume Patton isn’t a bigger handful than all of us combined,”

Toby didn’t get the meme, of course, but he did laugh. Maybe he should get it, since he was really just Virgil, but Virgil had long given up on trying to make sense of these dreams.

“Why am I here, Virgil?” Toby asked after a few minutes of silence. Virgil’s name came out strangely distorted – he knew Toby had said it, but Virgil couldn’t seem to actually hear it in his voice.

“I don’t know,”

“Sure you do,” said Toby, “It’s your dream. You’re getting married, and of all the dreams you could have, you had me. Why is that?”

“**I don’t **_**know**__,”_ Virgil snapped.

Toby held up his hands. He didn’t look afraid – Virgil tried to remember the last time he had, before those hundred years. How long had it been? How long had Virgil not noticed?

Or maybe he had been. Maybe _this_ Toby wasn’t afraid, but that didn’t mean the real one hadn’t been.

“Can’t have been just to introduce yourself, Brother Spider,”

Virgil stared at his hands.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said in a small voice.

“Doesn’t it?”

“It’s been a hundred years, Toby,” Virgil snapped, “You’re dead. You would still be dead even if I hadn’t- If-”

Toby just hummed.

“And what would you even do?” said Virgil, “Bring a rifle? Bell would have a fit,”

Toby gave him a small smile.

“Seem to recall you telling me Fair Folk were pretty scared of that rifle,”

“Because its full of fucking- fucking explosives and cursed metal, yeah, it’s-”

It was. And Bell _would_ be offended, even though it was true; a human with a gun over the best swordsman in the court? It was absurd.

Toby reached out, laying his hand on Virgil’s head.

“It _is_ a dream, little brother,” he said quietly, “You can pretend,”

Virgil’s vision swam. It was quiet for a long time.

“… Will you stand with me?” he said softly.

Toby smiled.

“Of course,”

—

“So then if I pull it like this-”

Trudi released most of her fingers, and Virgil’s wrist was caught in its own loop.

“I caught you!”

“You did,” said Virgil quietly, “You did great, pest,”

“It’s a little silly,” she said, “You can catch much bigger things with your webs. But it is a neat trick,”

“It is,”

She hummed happily, running through a few more loops with her string.

“Why am I here today, _Bruderspinne_?” she asked cheerfully.

Virgil’s throat was already clogging. He knew exactly why. He just didn’t know if he’d be able to say it.

“How do you know I didn’t just want to see you?”

Trudi gave him a sunny smile.

“I’m your dream, silly,”

“Then why do I have to tell you? Shouldn’t you already know?”

“You wanna tell me,” said Trudi, “That’s the rules,”

Virgil swallowed.

“… You have a cousin,” he said, his voice thready and weak.

Trudi nodded.

“That’s neat!” she said, “You and the other uncles will be good dads,”

Virgil make a low, strangled noise in the back of his throat.

“Do you think she would like to play string games with me?” Trudi asked, “Or tag. I know you always let me win at tag, though. She probably would too,”

“**Stop**,” Virgil begged.

Trudi fell silent.

“This is cruel,” he whispered.

She didn’t answer. She just looked at him, unblinking blue eyes and an expression far too serious for a six-year-old. Too serious for _Trudi_ especially.

And this _was_ cruel. It was the most certain he could be that this wasn’t Trudi – she couldn’t have been cruel if she tried.

“Why are you doing this?” he pleaded, “Trudi grew up. You got married, and you had May and you _died_ and you _weren’t six_,”

“You missed those things, though,” she said softly.

Virgil keened.

“That’s okay,” she whispered, “You didn’t mean to. So I’ll always be six here in the dream, for you. And that’s okay,”

“It’s not,” said Virgil.

“It really is, _Bruderspinne_,” she said reassuringly, “I like being six,”

“You aren’t _real,”_ he choked.

Trudi wrinkled her nose, clambering to her feet and putting her soft little arms around his neck.

She smelled like pine and grass and baking bread. Like wet mulch from the flower beds, and soap and creek water from her bath.

Like Trudi. Like the first baby he’d ever held in his arms and promised anything she could have wanted.

“It won’t happen again,” she said solemnly.

She was still small in his arms, but the voice was the one he’d heard in the casket – when she’d been grown and happy, a wife and a mother and completely, utterly beyond his reach.

“You all learned from Mutti’s mistake,” she continued, “You’re stronger together. You won’t lose her,”

“You can’t know that,” said Virgil desperately, “I don’t- _I _don’t know that, you keep- you keep changing the rules,”

“It’s your dream, _Bruderspinne_,” she said, petting his hair softly, “You make the rules,”

Virgil pressed his mouth to her hair.

“And either way – you _do_ know it,” she said, “All your family together – what could possibly stop them?”

She kissed him on the cheek.

“You’re just afraid you might be wrong,”

She shuffled a little, arranging herself in his lap and smiling sadly up at him.

“But you’re not wrong,” she said, her voice small and childish again, “You won’t miss her moments. Stop being such a worrywart,”

Virgil laughed wetly.

“If I didn’t worry, would you even recognize me, pest?”

“Of course,” she said, “I love you,”

It was like a lance to the lungs to hear her say it.

“Teach her all my games, okay?” said Trudi, “Our favorites. Strings and tag and those echo-songs,”

“Rounds,” croaked Virgil.

“Rounds,” Trudi agreed.

They lapsed into silence.

“I think I would like my cousin,” said Trudi softly.

Virgil pulled her closer, squeezing her too tight.

“Me, too,” he choked.

And he wept.

—

“Hey. _Hey_, V, babe, it’s okay. Wake up, come on,”

Virgil blinked his eyes open, his lashes clinging together as he tried to make sense of his sight half-asleep. Kisses dropped on his cheek, his eyelids – warm like a furnace and sweet-bitter smoke, _Roman-_

Virgil made a pitiful noise and Roman crooned wordlessly into his neck.

“What do you need?” he said gently.

“Linda,” said Virgil immediately, a touch too loud in the gray-blue morning twilight of their room.

Roman just nodded, crawling out of his side of the bed and pulling Virgil with him. Virgil made sure to tuck the covers around Logan’s sleeping form behind him – neither Logan nor Patton had moved.

Roman led Virgil down the hall to Linda’s room, opening the already-cracked door just a touch wider.

And there she was – dwarfed in the bed, her hair a spray of curls on the pillow, her mouth open and her nose twitching in her sleep.

Roman didn’t say anything, just held Virgil’s hands and nuzzled his face while Virgil watched Linda like she might vanish if he blinked too long.

It was several minutes they stood there before the tension started to bleed out of Virgil’s shoulders. He didn’t realize he’d started to slump until Roman tucked Virgil’s arm over his shoulder and half carried him to the kitchen. He deposited Virgil in a chair and set the coffee pot going, before taking a seat beside him and curling their hands together.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, gentle and unassuming.

Virgil bit the inside of his cheek.

“Not much to talk about. They’re always the same,” he said finally.

Roman winced.

“One of those?”

“Yeah,” said Virgil, “One of those,”

Roman drew his thumb back and forth across Virgil’s hand.

“… It was Trudi this time,” said Virgil weakly.

“_Oh_, V,” murmured Roman, reaching up to tuck some hair behind Virgil’s ear, “I’m so sorry. No wonder you cried,”

“Can I- could-”

“Anything, Virgil, just ask,”

“Please kiss me?”

Roman did, sleep-warm and pillow-soft. Everywhere his fingers touched Virgil was a grounding heat, like sunny rocks and daylight spilling across the couch cushions.

_This is real_, thought Virgil, _This is yours still._

Roman pulled back, pressing their foreheads together with a soft sigh.

“I hope you can forgive the morning breath,” he joked quietly.

“I could forgive you anything, beloved,”

Roman’s face lit up red, hiding a smile behind his hand.

“How are you so smooth this early in the morning?” he laughed, “It’s not fair, it’ll take me all day to catch up at this point,”

“Better get going,” said Virgil, and the smile, thankfully, did not feel fake.

Roman rolled his eyes.

“Almost an hour until breakfast,” he said, “Do you wanna help me make something fancy?”

“Don’t you wanna go back to bed?”

“Are _you _going back to bed?” said Roman pointedly.

Virgil didn’t answer.

“I’m good, babe,” said Roman, kissing Virgil’s cheek, “So- breakfast? French toast, maybe? We have the bread for it-”

“Vati, Papa?”

Virgil turned, and Roman leaned around him.

“Yeah, princess?” Roman prompted.

“You’re up early,” said Linda, her bare feet tapping on the linoleum as she trotted across the kitchen and crawled into Roman’s lap.

“We’re gonna make a big breakfast,” said Roman, skillfully dodging the actual question.

“Will it be ready by eight o’clock?” said Linda warily.

“It absolutely will,” Roman, “We’re making f-”

“Biscuits,” Virgil blurted.

They both turned to him, Linda curious and Roman confused.

“We don’t have any biscuits, babe,” he said, befuddled.

“Not the canned kind,” said Virgil, smiling.

Roman raised an eyebrow.

“Alright,” he said, grinning, “If we burn down the kitchen I’m throwing you to Patton without mercy,”

Virgil ducked his head down to speak to Linda.

“Would you like to help me make biscuits, _liebling?_”

Linda made a cautious kneading motion with her hands.

“Not quite,” Virgil laughed.

They set the ingredients out on the counter, chatting quietly – and occasionally convincing Linda to _keep_ doing so quietly – while the ingredients came together in a messy mass of crumbling dough. Virgil kneaded it into shape while Roman handled the bacon and eggs and Linda watched, fascinated.

“Why do we get them in a can if we can make them ourselves?” said Linda.

“It’s easier,” said Virgil, “And a lot of people don’t know how to do it themselves anymore,”

Linda nodded.

“Who showed you?”

There was a twinge – a seizing in his chest. Virgil managed a smile around it.

“My sister,” he said. His voice did not shake.

Linda tilted her head.

“You have a sister?”

“I do,” said Virgil, “But she had to leave, and I haven’t seen her in a long time,”

Linda looked stricken.

“It’s alright though,” said Virgil, “We had a lot of adventures before she did. Her husband and daughter, too,”

Linda perked right up, bouncing slightly.

“Adventures?”

“Yeah,” said Virgil, “Would you like to hear some?”

“Keep it PG,” Roman muttered pointedly.

“Yes, please!” said Linda, her hands giving a few quick little flaps.

“Her name was Greta,” he started, “And she was actually a very bad cook. So the _first_ time she tried to make these biscuits, she managed to set her hair on fire… ”

Linda laughed through the whole tale, and after breakfast pleaded for more stories. And over the next weeks, Virgil gave her more and more of them; every one felt like maybe he was sewing up some of the tears left in his heart.

_It’s not like I’m going anywhere, _the Dream-Greta had told him.

They were all only memories, in the dreams. But he couldn’t lose those – could share them, even, and get more in return. Like weeks later, when Linda turned her little gold eyes up at him, grinning wide.

“Can we have Aunt Greta’s biscuits for breakfast tomorrow, Vati?”

Virgil smiled back.

“Of course,”

**Author's Note:**

> you can also find me [over on tumblr!](tulipscomeinallsortofcolors.tumblr.com)


End file.
